


End of the Line: 3

by wirtleberg



Series: End of the Line [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sam Winchester, Angst, Dominant Sam, Dominant/Top Dean, Face Slapping, First Time, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Painplay, Pining, Rating: NC17, Sexual Violence, Submissive/Bottom Sam, Topping from the Bottom, Unrequited Love, Violence, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wirtleberg/pseuds/wirtleberg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part three in the series. Maybe a good idea to read in order?<br/>Sam is really really angry about Benny and a whole load of other stuff he barely understands himself. Dean has no idea how Sam's feeling and what's waiting for him back at the motel. Angsty angry Wincest ensues!</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of the Line: 3

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexa_dean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexa_dean/gifts).



> Thanks for encouraging this next part Alexa :)

He can tell the motel room is empty before he walks in. His stomach lurches for a brief moment but then he sees Sam's stuff and relaxes. The laptop is on the bed furthest from the door and Sam's clean laundry is neatly piled on a chair. Dean walks into the bathroom and unzips to take a piss. His shorts are stuck to the skin of his lower belly and his pubes are stiff with dried come. He closes his eyes feeling drained. What the fuck is wrong with him? He flushes and moves to the sink, turning on the taps and starting to splash water over his hands then over his crotch, sluicing away the evidence of his fucked up moments in the Impala. His cock is limp and there are sore areas round the base and the head. He closes his eyes again, left hand resting on the side of the sink, right continuing to splash water over himself, as if this simple action relieves something.  
Hearing a sudden hiss his eyes spring open directly into the mirror where he sees himself holding his junk over the porcelain and Sam standing in the doorway behind him. Without thinking he turns, shocked into reaction. He starts to say, "I didn't hear you … ", but he's drowned out by the sound of Sam roaring. The noise level is a surprise but the sneering disgust on his brother's face is almost completely disorientating.  
"Look at you! A grown man fucking playing with himself in the bathroom in the middle of the afternoon. Christ Dean! Just get dressed.”  
"What the fuck? Can’t a guy …"  
Before he can finish Sam has slapped him, open-handed, so that he stumbles sideways falling against the side of the bath and barely catching himself.  
"I said cover yourself up! You're making my stomach turn right now, I can't bear to look at you." There’s a momentary pause, like Sam's waiting for something. When it doesn’t come he leaves the room slamming the door behind him.  
Head ringing and with a metallic taste in his mouth Dean slumps onto the toilet seat. What the fuck? After the earlier scene in the diner he was expecting Sam to be difficult, to push and demand answers. He'd thought he was ready for that; but this? He can't remember when Sam hit him last. What he does know is that Sam didn't use all his strength just now, because he can remember how that felt. As he zips up he notices his hands shaking and feels a mixture of anger and confusion. Where the fuck does Sam get off on hitting him for having a wash! Part of him wants to storm into the main room and kick Sam's ass so hard he won't shit for a week. What friggin’ right has Sam Winchester, demon fucker, blood drinker, spawn of hell to comment on anything anyone, least of all his brother, chooses to do or not do? But another part wants suddenly to shrink into a corner and weep. Dean doesn't recognise this sad, helpless self and for a moment he feels frightened and alone because he knows the sense of loss has almost nothing to do with Sam and everything to do with the cause of Sam's rage.  
He washes his face, makes sure his shirt is tucked in right, then walks into the other room.

Coming back from the store Sam sees the Impala and swallows hard. He can't believe how angry just thinking about Dean makes him these days. Back from Purgatory, from a year in which time Sam was sure Dean was gone for ever. And he’d nearly made peace with that, nearly. Then Dean was in his life again, all self assured and "I know what I'm here for now, I know for sure what we're meant to be doing, killing fucking evil sons of bitches", and all the usual Dean-speak that Sam kind of enjoyed when he was a teenager, then found slightly annoying after Stanford, but nowadays makes him see red and want to slap his brother's stupid, trashy mouth shut so he doesn't have to watch him embarrass himself. The water’s running loud in the bathroom but the door is wide open. Sam moves until he can see Dean standing, eyes shut, tackle in hand. In the few seconds before he explodes, Sam registers Dean's exhaustion, his odd fragility and seeing these fuels the sounds that come out of his mouth. Dean turns and just stands there, exposed and vulnerable and he finds he can't stop looking at his brother’s cock, white and flaccid against the dark, springing curls. He forces his eyes back up to Dean’s face. He wants to say, "I don't recognise you, I'm afraid you're disappearing in front of me and I don't know how to stop it." Instead he says the same kind of cruel, bullying things he’d hated from his father's mouth. The look of pain and surprise on Dean's face just seems to stoke whatever's driving him right now and witnessing his brother's soiled, empty beauty up close like this is just ... Before he can register what he's doing he’s stalked forward and slapped Dean's face making him lurch sideways. He says, "Cover yourself up, I can't bear to look at you right now." Even as he speaks he wonders where these words come from and if he really means them. Dean looks like he might fall and with a shock of disappointment Sam makes himself turn on his heel and walk out into the main room.  
He wants to grab the keys, get into the Impala and drive ... let Dean wait around without wheels for a change. Instead he makes himself sit at the table his hands flat on the surface and breathe. Relaxing, he’s suddenly and horribly aware of tension in his groin and glancing down sees the outline of his cock swelling against his jeans.  
At that moment Dean walks out of the bathroom and sits in the chair across the table. His face is completely neutral and completely red where Sam’s handprint marks it. His lower lip is swelling. Dean says,  
"We need to talk, like grown-ups. Talk to me Sam."  
He can't remember Dean saying that he wants to talk about anything, not til all the new trial stuff anyway. It's always been the other way around and he feels momentarily thrown, wrong footed, like Dean ought to be angry with him and why the hell isn't he? He moves one hand from the table down between his legs and squeezes, willing his hard on away. Anger comes to his rescue again; Dean wants him to talk? Okay he'll talk.  
"I think it really fucked me up when I was a kid, watching you with women." Dean’s eyes narrow, his lips pressed into a thin line Sam doesn’t recognise. "Sometimes I think I was even jealous of how easy you made it seem to get what you wanted with your lies and tricks. I used to think how stupid they were, all those faceless girls, 'til I realised it was all a game.” He laughs and it sounds strange even to his own ears. He wonders why the fuck he’s talking about this now, but can’t seem to stop himself. "They didn't believe you, did they, any more than you believed in yourself when you told those lies about who you are and what you do, just to get between their legs. I spent my teens walking into rooms just like this one Dean, that smelled of cunt and your come. I used to go to sleep at night smelling you and wake up to it, like my whole world was measured by what you did with your cock.’ He pauses, confused, where the fuck is all this stuff coming from? But something relentless pushes the words out and out his mouth, “I'd lie in bed listening to you going at it with someone whose name you didn't know just feet away from me, like I wasn't there, like I didn't exist." Dean's eyes flicker and his lips part as if he's going to speak but he carries right on. "I never got on your case about it. Thought it was your due, ‘cos you were left to look after me and you did, you did that at least.”  
Dean has a pinched look about him that twists Sam's gut and simultaneously makes his cock surge with blood. Shit, shit!  
Dean says, "What do you want from me? You want me to apologise for what happened when I was a kid myself?" Dean's voice is remote and strangely calm which makes Sam want to shout and be unreasonable. Instead he answers just as calmly.  
"You're a piece of work Dean, but I never thought you were a hypocrite, not until now. What's your excuse for the vampire?"  
"I ain't got an excuse and I don’t need one." Dean links his hands together on the table in front of him and fixes his eyes on them. "I've already told you what he did for me and for Cas in Purgatory, I’m not gonna repeat myself here. He's a friend Sam, maybe the only real friend I ever had, certainly the most dependable and I don't say that to piss you off, but because it's true." He looks up and Sam is scared all over again by the sadness that seems to permeate Dean and the look, like he's a thousand miles away though he’s within touching distance. "I’ve told him that’s it, end of the line, he's on his own, no more calls, no more helping him out from blood banks. He knows if he fucks up, if he hurts a human and I find out, that I'm gonna be on him like he was just any other vampire, no excuses."  
"He's already killed at least one human that I know of Dean … "  
"We’re not going there again. Martin was your fault, you need to take responsibility for what happened to him." Dean's voice is firm and clear, "Benny did only what you would have done for me, killed a man who was threatening his family."  
Sam hesitates, "You say you told him end of the line, but I didn’t need a psych course to tell me you aren’t OK with that. Last night wasn't the first time I listened to you having a wet dream over a frigging gay vampire." He's watching Dean's face, looking for tell-tale signs of guilt or embarrassment, but there's nothing. He pushes harder. "Something went on between you, something you don't want to let go of. You look like shit and if things were normal you’d never let me get away with hitting you, not without you trying to kick me into next week, so what's going on here?"  
"What you want me to say? Maybe you should be careful what you ask for, particularly if you ain't sure you really wanna hear the answer." Dean looks him straight in the eye, "Like I said this morning, you need to think about what right you got to question me. You spent four years away at college and you don't know who I was or what I did in that time. You've never asked me, just like I never asked you. I don't know who all you fucked this last year, and it ain't none of my business." He takes a deep breath. "You're my brother and hard as you make it sometimes I care about you, always have, always will."  
He feels his mouth open in surprise, of course he knows Dean cares about him, he went to Hell and back for him for fuck's sake. It's just he's never heard him lay it out like that before. Dean's pale face is tense and earnest, not a look he associates with his brother, whose eyes are now very wide and very green and to his own astonishment Sam finds he wants to reach out and lay his fingers against the swollen lip, the reddened handprint. He's about to open his mouth to speak when Dean says, "Are you mad with me because I cared for someone beside you Sammy? If that's it then you need to be honest with yourself ‘bout that and stop hauling on my ass ‘cos you’re jealous you didn’t have all my attention for once in your life."  
All his attention? What the fuck has he just been saying about Dean and women? Had he been speaking in tongues or something? He's never had all Dean's attention, ever. He feels something cold, something beyond angry, growing in him.

The talk Dean said he wanted has left him feeling sad and remote, but at least he's kept his temper. He doesn't need to be a fucking therapist to see Sam is angry and kind of jealous. But, Jesus, did he really lead the kid such a miserable teenage life? Should he apologise? What use is an apology that he doesn't mean? He hates that Sam was hurt by any of it but he wouldn't have done anything differently. He knows perfectly well he's always used sex as an escape, as a way of feeling and expressing the things he has no words for. It'd started like that even with Benny. Christ! He daren’t think about Benny now, Sam’s like a circling shark smelling blood and if he's pushed hard enough he might just blurt it all out, get it over and done with. But there’d be no going back from that and he's not ready to deal with what he feels for the vampire and he sure as hell isn't ready to deal with any more of Sam's shit. He's still wrapped in his own thoughts when Sam launches himself across the table and grabs him round the throat. He falls backwards off the chair, Sam's full weight landing on top of him. Before he can react he's lifted by the neck of his shirt, head banged down on the floor. He kicks out hard and gets a knee between Sam's legs meaning to throw him off. Despite seeing stars he’s immediately aware of the raging hard on pressing against his shin. Friggin’ hell!  
"Sam! Sammy … What the fuck you doing?"  
A vast hand presses over his mouth, stopping him speaking, cutting off most of his oxygen. He brings both his own hands up under Sam’s jaw forcing his head back. Now he can feel Sam's erection pressing hard against his thigh and with a kind of creeping horror the full extent of what's happening here slowly dawns on him. Sam isn't just angry about Benny, or even about the girls that flitted through his earlier life; despite the situation he’s suddenly and very clearly aware that Sam is truly jealous in a way he can barely begin to comprehend. Sam suddenly takes his hand off Dean's mouth and pushing Dean's hands aside, kisses him hard and vicious. Dean tastes blood, his own or Sam's, as their teeth crack together. He starts to really fight now, but Sam is longer and heavier and angrier and seems to hold Dean in place almost effortlessly. He can feel teeth and lips at his neck, licking and biting and some sense of self-preservation, maybe some memory of Benny doing the same thing, makes him go suddenly still and limp. He feels Sam pause, but only for a moment before he's tearing at the T-shirt under Dean's plaid, ripping it away to expose his chest and belly, still grinding himself down on Dean's crotch. No, he thinks, please no … but his traitor cock doesn't care who’s doing the grinding and he feels himself harden under Sam’s relentless motion. Sam slides a hand between their bodies palming Dean through his jeans and hisses in what sounds like triumph. How can Sam be enjoying this? Some part of Dean is completely stunned but another part is wide awake and remembering moments, glances, touches, arguments and scenes, going back years and he wonders how he didn't see it before. "Sam." He whispers. "Please Sammy, stop, you really don't want to do this, not like this …".  
Lips close to his ear Sam whispers back, "You don't know the first fucking thing about me Deano, you have no idea what I want to do." And he bends his head and sinks his teeth into one of Dean’s nipples making him cry out and try to twist away. Sam laughs and says, "That's more like it… you give it up for everybody else, now it's my turn."  
And it occurs to Dean that Sam might really hate him, that all the things he was bitching about earlier are just the surface of a vast pool of envy and resentment. Panic flares through him, Sam really means this, he's not gonna stop. He can fight back for real, let it get messy and bloody, maybe damage Sam in some permanent way. Or he can just take it. His body is saying fight, fight! His head says, take the path of least future pain. His heart says, he's your brother, he won't really hurt you, he just needs something from you, can't you give it him? He has a sudden memory of his brother as a baby, maybe eight or nine months old. He remembers the overwhelming love he felt as Sam’s tiny heart beat under his hands. He closes his eyes and as if picking up on the change, Sam stills. Dean looks up and puts both his hands either side of Sam's face. "It's okay," he says, trying a small smile, "it's okay. Let me make it good for you Sammy. I want to, will you let me?" He lifts his head and kisses Sam softly on the mouth. Sam hesitates and Dean whispers, "We can get on the bed, get these clothes off …".  
“Christ!” Sam says, “You really are a whore.”  
Dean flinches, turning his face away and dropping his hands.  
“Oh, that stung did it? Thought maybe you’re so fucking jaded nothing I say could possibly touch you.  
“What the fuck’s going on here man?” Sam's words had hurt like a kick in the chest but he makes himself look up at his brother, “Is this you? Are you possessed or somethin' ?  
Sam smiles and gets up pulling Dean up after him. “Wow, that kind of says everything about us doesn’t it, that you’d sooner believe I’m possessed than that I might actually want something from you. You want it too, I know you do, your dick was dripping like Pavlov’s dog just a moment ago and you were offering to get naked.” He looks disgusted again and oddly disappointed. “If you don’t want it then why aren’t you fighting me for real?”  
“'Cos I’m too old and tired to fight you over shit like this and what you’re wantin’ ain’t what you would ever want if you were right in the head Sammy. Jesus, can’t you see that?”  
“Of course I can and you know what, I don’t give a fuck Dean." Sam's bone white under his tan,, his eyes huge with something Dean wants to look away from. He says, "Get your clothes off.”  
“What?”  
“You heard me, get your clothes off and get on the bed.”  
“Or what? You gonna rape me Sammy?”  
He can see the word jolt Sam, but only for the briefest moment. “Rape you?” Sam laughs, a bright cheerful laugh. “Hell no Dean, you’re going to fuck me.”  
“You’re entirely friggin’ mad if you think I’m gonna do any such thing …”  
“Yeah you will and you know why?” Sam steps into Dean’s space crowding him until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. Dean can smell his brother’s skin, the sweat fresh from their struggle on the floor. “Because I want you to.”  
Overwhelmed by sudden exhaustion he says, “Why Sam? I don’t get it, why would you want that ?” He’s never fooled himself into thinking he knows his brother entirely, Sam is way too volatile and fucking freakish for that, but he sure as hell thought he knew him a bit better than this.  
“Look, I know you’re not the sharpest knife in the box when it comes to empathy but keep up here! You’re going to fuck me because I want to know what they felt, all those nameless women. I want to experience the Dean Winchester Effect close up.”  
“Why Sammy? You think those girls got something of me you didn’t?”  
“I know they did”. Sam’s jaw sets and he snarls, “Everyone’s had a piece of you Dean, even fucking vampires, everyone except me.”  
Dean slumps down onto the bed. “You notice none of them come back for seconds?” No-one ‘cept Benny that is. “You haven’t missed a thing, I guarantee it.” He can’t believe he’s having this conversation with his brother. Jesus friggin' Christ!

Sam drops to his knees. “You aren’t going to talk your way out of this.” He pushes Dean onto his back and without hesitation applies lips to crotch, mouthing through the denim. Dean’s soft now, he can feel that and a moment of panic flares though him. He runs his hands up over the flat smooth planes of his brother’s belly and chest then yanks open his pants and underwear, freeing his cock in a single motion. Dean gasps as he vanishes into Sam’s mouth.  
“Fuck! Sam … don’t, you gotta stop, please I really, really don’t want this man …”  
“Liar!” Sam thinks, "liar!” His mouth is full of Dean. He can taste him, the sweet, intimate flavour of him, the sharp acrid flush of pre-come across his tongue. He feels dizzy, elated. Dean’s cock is swelling in his mouth which is so absolutely fucking wrong and so perfect that he wants to shout and laugh. So full! His mouth and throat are so full and it’s not nearly enough. Water runs down his face from the pressure to breathe and his own cock is near ripping through his clothing. Without lifting his head from Dean he undoes his jeans, shucking them off his ankles.  
Saliva is pooling around Dean’s balls and Sam runs his fingers through it, gathering it up and with Dean still firmly in his mouth he reaches back and jams two fingers into himself. The burn is a shock and he hears himself whine. Dean’s cock jumps and he slides his lips up until only the delicious, swollen head is held in his mouth and he swirls his tongue round and round before releasing it with a slurping sound that hits his cock and makes it throb.  
Dean moans then starts to move, like he’s trying to get up, like he has somewhere else to be. Sam pulls the invading fingers out of himself then leaps onto the bed to straddle Dean’s hips. He spits over the fingers of his right hand while his left wraps itself round Dean’s throat. “Stay still, I don’t want this to ...” Sam pushes the spit around his crack then takes hold of Dean’s slick cock and holding it in what feels like a death grip, puts it to his hole and slams down with all the weight of his upper body. The pain is instant and extraordinary, a burning and tearing that shakes him to the core as rings of resistant virgin muscle shriek in protest.  
“Ah, Christ!", he gasps, "It hurts! Hurts … fuck!”

Dean knows this is his chance to end it. Most of him wants to fling Sam off and get as far away from him as he can, several states away would be good. But looking up he sees tears running down Sam's face and the pain twisting his mouth and Sam's right, he really is like Pavlov's dog trained to respond, not to sex, but to his brother's needs, even his outrageous wants.  
"It's okay Sammy, it's okay I'll take care of you, make the hurting stop." He can feel the sore patches from earlier burning fiercely along his cock but he ignores them. Still buried in his brother up to his balls he flips him, unresisting, onto his back and starts very, very gently, to move.  
Sam screams, "Too much, it's too much! Please Dean, please stop …"  
He hesitates. He's hard and ready but stopping would be easy. Something tells him to go on, that this is what Sam wants from him, needs from him. He moves again, more firmly this time knowing that with each thrust the muscles will relax a bit more and a bit more. Sam's eyes open wide as if astonished that his pleas are being ignored.  
Despite a premonition of bone-deep regret he says, "I ain't stopping Sammy. You wanted this, you wanted full of me and you're gonna get it.” To emphasise his point he braces his shoulders and grasps Sam's biceps, pinning him down like a big, beautiful moth. Seeing the wild, scared look in his brother's eyes he pulls out and shoves back in hard making Sam shudder and gasp, open-mouthed.  
Dean closes his eyes, he's nowhere near coming. He could keep on going for hours, for days, because although his cock is willing, there's no real desire anywhere else in him. He can't believe he's doing this but at the same time he recognises a sense of inevitability; his big, handsome brother has been waiting for this all his life and Dean's been some kind of blind idiot not to see it.  
"I'm sorry Dean, I'm so sorry, so sorry …"  
Sam is weeping now, salt water running over his sex-flushed skin. He takes Dean's right hand off his arm and brings it to his cheek for a moment before lifting it and bringing it down sharply to his face in an attempted blow. "Please," he says, "please Dean, hit me, hit me back."  
"Jesus, Sammy," he whispers, "I don't wanna hurt you … don't make me ..."  
"You're already hurting me Dean and I love it, love it so much. Please, I... I'll beg if you want me to … "  
Dean closes his eyes. All his life seems to recede into this moment of complete fuckedupness. His mother, his father, Bobby, Jo and Ellen, everyone who ever cared about him fades into a kind of grey mist, like his past is being swallowed by this present. A vision of Benny under him comes out of left field with a sharp pain that makes him want to cringe. He sees the expression in the vampire’s blue eyes right before they both came and knows with sudden, dreadful clarity what Benny was showing him. He wants very much to be alone with this new thought, but instead he opens his eyes and looks down at this brother, keening and writhing on his cock and thinks, there are vampires and there are vampires and with no hesitation he backhands Sam hard across the face, then slaps him again and again, open-palmed. Sam yowls and throws his hips upwards to meet Dean's thrusts as the fucking starts for real, brutal and brusing. The room echoes with the sound of flesh on flesh and Dean thinks distantly of the furtive fuckings Sam complained of, innocent moments snatched in rooms just like this one. A trickle of blood leaks from the side of Sam's mouth and he dips down to take it on his tongue, spreading it across Sam's lips and into his mouth in a bitter-tasting kiss. He's pounding in an' in so hard now it's gotta be hurting bad, but he keeps right on, accompanied by Sam's harsh, panting growls. Sounds like he's giving birth Dean thinks as his brother's long, long legs clamp his waist, gripping him like a vice. He wraps one hand round Sam's throat then takes a stiff nipple in his mouth, biting down hard so that his teeth almost meet through skin. Sam screams and with no touch his cock jerks and he shoots high into the space between them, splashing both of their bellies and reaching the side of Dean's face. He can feel Sam's throat working under his grip as Sam clutches at him, screams turned to moans, shudder after shudder running through him until he’s shivering uncontrollably.  
Dean slows and stops. The twisting grasp of Sam's muscles around him is amazing and appalling. He could come easily, or not at all. Seems a simple choice but it isn't. Might be the most important choice he ever makes. If he pulls out now he won't have given everything away, some part of him'll still be his own. If he comes in or on his brother it will be like a brand, marking both of them.  
As if sensing his thoughts Sam, still shaking, looks up and touches Dean's face, fingers sliding through his own spunk. His eyes are blown, dark and wide-open, his mouth trembles. "You haven't come?” Dean shakes his head, the question tumbling, still unanswered, in his brain.  
"Don't you want to?" Seeing Dean's face, Sam’s crumples and he closes his eyes. "I thought a lot," he whispers, "about watching you fall apart, coming 'cos of me, just for me and how that would feel with you inside me, filling me up." He pauses, opening his eyes, a small, hesitant smile on his lips, "But it's okay Dean, I get it, I do."  
Dean takes a deep breath and pulls out of his brother's body.

Sam groans like some major organ has just been ripped from him. The sense of loss, of emptiness is sudden and shocking and he feels cold and small. Dean is walking away toward the bathroom and seeing his naked back and ass disappear from view Sam has to stop himself from jumping up and running after him. He hurts. He's bruised and sore and it's like his guts have been dragged out through his ass but that's not why he feels so totally fucked up. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the hot burning there. Dean gave him what he asked for and more, but as he listens to water running he understands something about his brother, something he's never seen in all the years he's known him. That however much Dean gives and gives, whatever it was Sam thought he gave to all those women for all those years, there was always something Dean held onto that belonged to nobody but himself. He remembers Dean saying that no-one came around for seconds. Maybe this was why? Maybe having something as intensely beautiful as Dean so close and so elusive was just too much to bear? He knows very well he has no right to any of what Dean just gave him. He knows he's unutterably selfish, childish, yes and cruel and right now he wants nothing more than to grovel and beg the forgiveness he also has no right to. He won't, because Dean deserves better, and he won't cry again though he badly wants to ... for himself, because the Dean Winchester Effect is more painful than he could have imagined, and for his brother who has to live with that.

Dean comes back into the room with a wet cloth and towel. He sits on the bed and smiles at Sam before gently wiping away the come still streaking him.  
"It’s okay Sammy, it's okay. I'm not mad at you or myself and that has to be a first, heh?"  
He lays down beside his bigger, younger brother and puts his arms around him. "Everything’s good. We're good." He feels Sam sigh against his neck, feels the minute flutter of damp eyelashes against the skin of his shoulder. He thinks Sam's sinking into sleep when he says, so quiet Dean barely hears, "You love him, don't you Dean."  
It's not a question and doesn't need an answer. "Ssh, Sammy. Rest now, I'm here".  
He pulls the blanket up around Sam then lies for a long time, staring at the ceiling, thinking that Purgatory is not just a place.


End file.
